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“God, you’re killing me here,” Clint panted. “Seriously. Killing me.”
Natasha sat cross-legged between his splayed knees, with easy access to the tender skin of his inner thigh. He twisted away from her nails as she dug them in, but loops of black rope tied his wrists to his upper thighs, and more rope had been securely anchored under the bed, keeping his legs wide open for her. There was no escaping.
“I told you to be quiet.”
“Sorry,” he hissed.
“Apparently not sorry enough, because you’re still taking.”
His head thudded back on the pillows behind him. “Yeah, well, my brain’s kinda fried right now, and who’s fault is that?”
“Still talking. I’m starting to think you want me to hurt you.”
He shook his head.
She soothed the red mark with her fingertips. “Then don’t make me tell you again. You won’t like it.”
She drew her nails up his thigh. He raised his head to look, and the tip of his tongue flicked over his dry lips as she continued further up, skimming his groin. When she bypassed his hard, flushed cock, he looked torn between frustrated and massively relieved.
She ran her fingers along the defined tan line across his abdomen. She had only arrived at the beach house last night, joining Clint who had already been here for the better part of three weeks. He had finally decided to use some of the vacation time he had accumulated over the years, and from the looks of things, he had spent a considerate portion of the time here out in the sun. And in little more than a pair of fairly low-slung shorts, judging from the placement of the tan line.
As she caressed his skin, a drop of sweat trickled down between her breasts. She had stripped down to panties, but the old house had no air conditioning, and even with the French doors wide open beyond the sheer curtains, and a ceiling fan spinning overhead, the room was sweltering after a day of baking sun.
Clint was definitely feeling the heat, too. In more ways than one. She had kept him teetering on the edge of orgasm for the better part of an hour already, taking him there and denying him release every time. His face and neck were deeply flushed, and his hair was plastered to his skin in dark spikes. Every inch of warmly tanned skin glistened with beading sweat. He looked wrecked. No, on second thought, he looked stunning.
She glanced up to find him still watching her fingers, waiting. His breathing was still a little rough from the latest round, but it was starting to slow down.
Time to change that.
She closed her fingers loosely around his already lube-slick cock and ran her hand up, slow and feather-light. He groaned under his breath.
“Remember, the only thing I want to hear from you is the word ‘close’ when you absolutely can’t take it any more,” she reminded him. “You’re not allowed to come.”
He let his head fall back down with a whimper.
She gave his hot cock another slow stroke. Her grip was so light she was barely touching him, but at this point he was so on edge she could probably make him come with a single finger. Maybe she would, she mused. He sometimes accused her of having a cruel streak, and well, he wasn’t completely wrong.
“I like you like this,” she said conversationally. “Unable to do anything but take what I decide to give you. And you do, too, don’t you?”
He shook his head, then changed it into a short, jerky nod.
“Good boy,” she murmured.
She gave him a couple of firmer, faster strokes. She wasn’t rewarding the honesty (though she appreciated it), she was rewarding the fact that he hadn’t broken the rules this time. Positive reinforcement worked well on Clint. So well, in fact, that she didn’t know if it was the increased stimulation or the praise that drew the raspy moan from him.
She brought her palm up over the tip of his cock and collected the precum shining there, then rubbed her slick thumb over the sensitive bundle of nerves just under the head. He tensed and blew out a strained, harsh breath.
“How many can you take this time?” she asked. “Twenty?”
He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head decisively. She had lost count how many times he had tapped out already, and she never gave him enough time to settle properly in between rounds, just enough to be reasonably sure he won’t spontaneously come the moment she touched him again. Hyper-aroused didn’t even begin to describe the state he was in at this point, so she knew twenty was beyond him.
“One.” She dragged out the word as she brought her hand down his cock.
He blew out another tight breath, fixing his eyes on the ceiling above. She knew what he was doing. He was trying to compartmentalize, to disconnect from the situation and the sensations in an attempt to meet the challenge she had put out there, but was clear from the way his fingers kept clenching and unclenching compulsively that it wasn't working very well.
“Two.” She kept the torturously slow pace. “Three.”
She continued counting out loud, and it wasn’t long until his breathing started to pick up again. He got a short bonus break when she began to feel a hint of drag against her palm. The bottle of lube she had made liberal use of already sat the bed next to him, and she slicked her hand up good again. She wasn’t above dealing out a little pain sometimes, and even though Clint had denied wanting it today, he definitely wasn't above enjoying it in the right context. But chafing was something neither of them was interested in.
She drizzled more lube on the head, watched it dribble slowly down his cock before wrapping her fingers around it and starting up again.
His hips made a small, aborted move. Then, a few seconds later, it happened again. The no-talk rule hadn’t been the only one she had set down when they started this. He wasn’t to move, he was just supposed lie there and let her run the show however she wanted to. So far, he had done an admirable job at it, but this was apparently where control was starting to slip out of his grasp, because it wasn’t long until he started rocking his hips into the loose circle of her fingers in earnest.
“Behave,” she said.
He slumped back and let out another hitching groan, equal parts frustration and misery.
She reminded herself that if he wanted to, he could stop this. With words, or by simply not giving her any warning and surrendering to his climax. But she knew he wouldn’t. He would keep going, waiting as long as he possibly could before telling her to stop. And he would keep doing it, keep denying his overstimulated, overheated, frustrated body what it wanted so badly. He would do it simply because that was what she wanted him to do.
Having that power over someone as strong and fiercely protective of his integrity and sovereignty as Clint was an arousing thrill.
She resumed her lazy stroking. He managed to keep his hips from chasing her touch, but the tension on the ropes grew as he strained against them. She took a moment to appreciate how it enhanced the muscle definition in his arms.
But pretty as it was, tension was not his friend right now. She tapped her other hand against his clenched abs. “Relax, or you won’t make it.”
Using biofeedback to try to fool his body into thinking it wasn’t actually about to come might give him a little more time, but it still wouldn’t get him all the way to twenty, because while willpower might go a long way, and Clint Barton’s particular brand of willpower might go even longer, nothing would stave off the inevitable if she kept going. She knew it, and he knew it.
He still inhaled deeply through his nose, all the way to his stomach, before letting the air out in a strained, but slightly more controlled, exhalation.
Better, but not enough.
“Relax every muscle,” she coached. “Arms. Shoulders. Neck. Stomach. Legs.”
His fingers uncurled slowly. He sank deeper into the sheets and the tension on the ropes disappeared. It must have taken a monumental effort to not let his body call the shots, but he tried, and she loved him for it.
Clint did well, he made it all the way to eleven before breathing changed abruptly. It probably wasn’t fair of her to press her fingertips against the smooth skin behind his balls, but then again, playing fair hadn’t gotten her to where she was today.
His shoulders came off the bed as he curled in on himself as much as the ropes would let him, his muscles contracting. “Close,” he gasped. “Close!”
Natasha let him go. He froze in place, his body rigid as his cock twitched hard. He didn’t even breathe.
For a moment, she thought she misjudged and waited too long; he was going to come. She tried to not be disappointed that the game had come to an end, reminding herself that she shouldn’t be greedy. That he had made it this far was an epic achievement.
But to her pleasant surprise, Clint somehow managed to hold onto the fraying edges of control, and slumped back down with a harsh, shuddering breath. She petted his leg in silent praise.
“No more. Please, no more. I can’t take it.”
“Yes, more. And what did I say about running your mouth?”
This wasn't how he told her to stop, not for real, but she decided to give him some additional time to recover while she wiped her sticky hands on the sheet and pulled the hair tie from her hair. Sweaty strands had escaped and were sticking annoyingly to her face. She gathered them before twisting everything into a knot and securing it at the nape of her neck again.
She took the opportunity to change position, too. Sitting cross-legged was only comfortable for so long. She unfolded her legs and draped them over his thighs instead.
“Since twenty seems to be too much for you,” she said, “let’s try fifteen this time.”
He moaned. “No. I can’t. It’s too much. Please, let me come. Please. Please, please, please.”
She drew her finger lightly up his shaft, watching it jump under her touch. “You’re pretty when you beg,” she said.
A flicker of discomfort crossed his face. He had a complicated relationship with praise in situations like this, and all too often he seemed to instinctively jump to the conclusion that she was making fun of him. It was hard to know what would go over well, because it changed from time to time. The 'good boy' earlier hadn't elicited this reaction.
She chased the look away by wrapping her hand around his cock again. She made fun of him on a very regular basis out there in the real world, outside this bubble that seemed to form around them when they played like this, but she would never do that here. Not when he laid there, naked and vulnerable and gave her everything she wanted and more.
“Can I come?” His voice shook as her hand started moving again. “Please?”
“No, not yet.”
He gave a sound like a sob.
For her own selfish sake, she would love to draw this out indefinitely, but it was probably time to start wrapping it up. He was so wound up by now that he might trip over the edge without meaning to. Knowing him, he would feel like he failed, and that wasn’t what this was about at all.
She wasn’t about to let him know that the finish line was within reach. It would be a good incentive, but keeping him in the dark appealed to her more today. Not knowing when it was going to end added to the psychological challenge, and watching him dig in and endure was a turn-on.
She went a little faster, gripped him a little tighter. A different kind of heat than the one in the air rose inside her as she watched him struggled to hold back. A continuous string of wordless, desperate sounds that was coming from him now, and she resisted the urge to slip her hand inside her panties and touch herself.
Despite his best effort, he didn’t make it to six this time, biofeedback and Barton willpower be damned.
“Close,” he gasped.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” She speeded up.
“Close,” he cried. “Close, I’m close!”
Natasha kept pumping.
“Stop, I can’t, I can’t—” He was starting to sound frantic, still trying to be good for her and not come. “I’m gonna come. I’m gonna—”
“You can come.”
Her words didn’t seem to register for a moment, because he didn’t react, then he let out a sound of pure, shuddering relief. She could see him surrender, letting go of all the resistance and finally allowing himself to fold under the overwhelming demands of his body.
All it took was another couple of strokes. A massive shudder went through his body and warm, slick wetness hit her skin.
The moment she felt it, she pulled off, letting her hand hover a few tantalizing inches away.
Clint’s eyes flew open. “No!” His entire body arched up against the ropes. “No, no, no.” The protest disintegrated into a distressed whimper as come kept pulsing from his cock in waves, running down the shaft as he strained for her touch.
She felt almost sorry for him. Release without stimulation was a hollow release, unsatisfying in a way that defied description. But she had warned him. He made his bed, now he got to lie in it.
“I told you you weren’t going to like it if you kept talking.” She wiped her fingers on his leg.
He let out a whine and humped the air for another couple of seconds, then sagged down to ride out the disappointing remnants of his ruined orgasm.
“Fuck,” he groaned. “You’re such a—”
She grabbed his cock again and gave it a rough pull. He jerked and tried to twist away with a sound like pain mixed with hysterical laughter that had nothing to do with enjoyment and everything to do with overloaded nerve signals warped into something they weren’t. If his cock had been sensitive before, it was nothing compared to now.
“Might want to think long and hard about the next words out of your mouth,” she cautioned. “Or I might decide I’m not done, after all.” Just to reinforce the warning, she gave him another rough stroke.
“You’re wonderful! You’re amazing, the greatest woman in the whole world. Ever.” He pulled on the ropes, twisting and stretching as far as he could in a hopeless attempt to reach her and make her stop.
“Nice save,” she smirked and released him.
He slumped back down against the pillow, shuddering hard.
Natasha didn’t move, she just waited with her palms resting on his thighs, grounding him while the tension started to bleed out of him. It was the least she could do.
His eyes closed, and his face slowly relaxed. It took a few minutes for his breath to even out, and a few more before he shifted against the ropes that still held him.
“God, I can’t believe you did that,” he mumbled.
“I’m a woman of my word, you should know that.” She reached for the small towel she had left on the bedside table before they started, and started wiping him down carefully.
He flinched. “Stop. Let me.”
She put the towel on his stomach and tugged on the quick-release knot for his left wrist, then his right.
As she worked on the ropes around his legs, he rolled his wrists carefully, working the stiffness out. She had taken care to not tie the ropes too tightly, but she could still see rings of red on his skin. The marks wouldn’t bruise, she was fairly sure of that. If they did, she knew he wouldn't mind.
She got off the bed and padded to the kitchenette. Last night when she had arrived, she had checked the fridge and had expected to see beer and not much else, but Clint had surprised her by having it fully stocked up. There were even some vegetables in there. She wondered if he had picked them up with her in mind, even though she hadn’t told him she was going to show up.
She stood in front of the open fridge for a moment, savoring the coolness until the faint creak of the bed told her Clint was up and moving. She reluctantly closed the door after grabbing two water bottles from the shelf, pressing one against her neck as she walked. Condensate had already started to fog up the plastic, beading on the cold surface, and it felt heavenly against her sweaty skin.
When she stepped back into the bedroom, he was sitting up in bed, wiping at his flushed face with the t-shirt he had dropped right there on the floor with the rest of his clothes when she had told him to strip.
She put one of the bottles on the small table for later, then cracked the other open and held it out for him to take. But when he reached for it, she dodged his hand and pressed it to his ribs, wringing a hiss and a flinch out of him.
“You’re a horrible person,” he grumbled as he took the bottle and drank. He chugged it too fast and ended up folded over, coughing into the crook of his elbow. She slapped his back unhelpfully until he shoved at her and wiped at the water that dribbled from his mouth and chin with the back of his hand. “Horrible,” he wheezed between coughs. “Truly horrible.”
“Thank you. I try.”
When he was done, he tossed the bottle on the floor and flopped down on his back. Natasha took a moment to straighten out the crumpled sheets as best as she could before lying down next to him. He instantly rolled over and draped a lax arm over her, followed up with his leg across hers to half-trap her under him.
“Get off me.” She pushed at his shoulder. He was sweaty and heavy, and it was far too hot to lie pressed up against another person.
His response was to press his face against her neck and fake a snore.
She gave him another lackluster push. It wasn’t like she couldn’t get out from under him if she really, truly wanted to, but the effort just felt like too much right now, so she resigned herself to dying from heat exhaustion under him.
“You need a shower,” she sighed.
Another fake snore.
The fan spun lazily above the bed, chasing hot air and afternoon shadows across the ceiling. She watched the hypnotic motion as the soft whirring merged with the mid-register rumble of distant waves breaking down the beach.
Clint’s breath was warm and moist against her ear, tickling her hair with every slow exhalation. She closed her eyes and started lazily dragging her fingertips up and down the arm slung over her chest. Stillness slowly settled inside her. She hadn’t had an orgasm, it had never been in her plans for this, but what she felt now was weirdly reminiscent of the afterglow of one. A really good one.
Clint was still pretending to sleep, but it wouldn’t be long before it would be an actual fact, so she shook off her own lethargy for a moment and poked his arm. It was better to check in properly before that happened.
“Hey.”
He hummed.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m sore, and I hate you,” he mumbled. “Like, a lot.”
“Will you ever forgive me?”
“Jury’s still out on that one.” He shifted closer and his lips brushed her neck. “I’ll deliver the final verdict after next time, when it’s my turn to choose. You know what they say about payback, don’t you?”
She smiled and tilted her head to give him better access. “That she’s a bigger bitch than I am?”
The scrape of teeth against her skin told her his grin was wide and full of promise. “Yep.”